The Little Words Mean the Most

To Versailles, with expert private guide, Laurent, of Context Travel

    Context Travel Art & history expert, Laurent; thank you, you are deeply informative and wonderful to spend time with. Sim One and I had visited Versailles before. It was no more than a big building on that first visit. This time the building was "in context." The creation of the court at Versailles (we learned) was essential to the evolution of modern France as a nation respected by the world. It was the brainchild of the Sun King, Louis XIV, a brilliant politician who became king at age 5 and survived repeated attempts to dispose of him thereafter. It is good to be king, yes? Except you must lock up your spices with your personal key, to prevent poisoning. OK, lesson learned. The queue we skipped, because we had Laurent, a licensed private tour guide. The Sun King "logo" was everywhere. The residence. Merlin and Forrest, our companions. A hunted stag turned into a fountain. Bad selfie.

The horror prejudice & complicit government can achieve together

Wikipedia: The Mémorial des Martyrs de la Déportation (English: "Memorial to the Martyrs of the Deportation")^[2] is a memorial to the 200,000 people who were deported from Vichy France to the Nazi concentration camps during World War II. It is located in Paris, France on the site of a former morgue, underground behind Notre Dame on Île de la Cité. It was designed by French modernist architect Georges-Henri Pingusson and was inaugurated by Charles de Gaulle in 1962.\

The names

Our taxi back to Notre Dame had a sunroof

At lunch, Merlin (16 and appreciating wine as a "tool" of mealtime) remarked of our chosen chilled white, "You can taste the grapes weeping." We all paused in wonder, including the pigeons outside; I wrote it down. That's Merlin's hand, pouring the sparkling water.

Paris, day 3: The rain, it stays; the chicken, it triumphs

[Above: almost there, Forrest encourages Sim One through a gust]

Today's large event: 3 hours in the presence of the world's best-sourced and -prepared roast chicken, for lunch. The taxi ride began at Notre Dame (lots of taxis at this most central site) for a 12:30 reservation at le Coq Rico, 98 Rue Lepic. The traffic was like a video game gone amuck. I complimented the driver on doing amazing things. "It's not driving," he growled, determined to get us there on time, despite trucks making deliveries, constant interceptions and challenges. "It's fighting."

We dined at the long table in the back, which seats 8 on a side. At the other end of the table this Thursday was the regularly scheduled food-journalists' meeting, there to dine on the "chicken of the month." ¶ Their company today included the free-range chicken farmer from Brittany who supplied the meat. We thanked him for what graced our plates. ¶ This was a redemption meal, our 4th together in Paris. The other 3 were good-to-better meals, of course (it IS Paris, and we are pampered) ... yet with highlights and potholes, both.

Le Coq Rico Paris (they have another in NYC) surpassed every expectation. The chicken farmer talked with us about the Cornell-Feist's chicken breeds (egg-laying but aren't eaten, except by varmints). Our easy-going, world-traveling waiter talked about his plans to open a restaurant with a friend in Paris later this year. The executive chef (who has two boys himself) teased Forrest and Merlin, saying the French fries had run out, leaving only vegetables. ¶ Every bite was a discovery and an adventure. The soups were magical. We arrived cold and wet and sniffling to beat a brass band. We left transformed, the glow-y thing. The desserts were indescribably sublime, so I won't attempt. The Montmartre neighborhood is fascinating.

 

The escargot, they are good: Paris squares

Merlin at Notre Dame, Jonathan, my martini in a copper "glass", the peppermills at the world's best kitchen supply store, the gargoyles, the snails, Sim One and Forrest, our view

Saturday morning food shopping in France

 

where we bought the clementines and tomatoes noir; the magnetic jigsaw puzzle of Paris (maybe a different background would help?), and our kitchen

What's new at Our House in France?

 

Got a new house number, from neighbor and mosaic artist, Natalie. "83 Bis" means "the OTHER 83." And some cat butts on the fridge.

Hiking on the Route Cezanne

Click any image to feel the spray in your face. Beef tartare, accompanied by local wine from Les Masques. So good, we drove to the domaine after lunch and bought quantities. Thank you, Fab & J-C (and Lily!) for another high-resolution French experience.